Wrong Warlock to Question
by lpstribling
Summary: A warlock has been taken in for interrogation at a time when the Tower needs him most. They want to hold him. But he has other plans.


"Is there nothing at all you have to say for yourself?"

Many were those who sought audience with the Speaker. He was, after all, the one true voice of the Traveler. Yet, after having been absent from the Tower in more than two months, the people who needed his direction became louder and grew in size. The Guardians as well, perhaps them most of all, were without their leader's voice, and the activities of their home base began to grow insipid.

Trenton Biggs, however, still walked the Tower's sacred halls with the same I-couldn't-give-a-shit saunter that long been his way of getting by. It made those who guarded the Speaker's official post a week bit more uptight. This seemed to increase a bit when they had caught him rifling through several mounds of weapons and ship-related documents on the Speaker's desk while the sentries were away from their posts. At present, he sat inside a small interrogation room somewhere beneath Cayde and the Vanguard Table.

"What? You want me to apologize? Okay, ready?" He stood, stretched, moved his neck around and cleared his throat. He looked at them with masterful glares and began.

"I'm sorry you have your heads up your Titan asses worrying about me when Crotas butt spawn are out there looking for a way to light our shit up? I'm sorry I caught you out to lunch away from your posts with your pants down blowing each other when the real Guardians are out there lighting Vex up like mechanical Christmas trees. I'm sorry I was looking for a note the Speaker wrote on my behalf to Master Rahool – a note he told me I could grab from his desk in his absence, a note which would allow me upgrades to my weapons and my uniform." He knelt smoothly, then his form vanished from their sight. Seconds later he appeared behind them and continued with a sharp pointer finger extended to each of them. "I'm sorry _you_ don't understand the basic premise of camouflage armor or its superior importance when dealing with the Taken army." He walked around back to his seat, rolled his neck again, and sat. "And I'm sorry, ultimately, that I couldn't have been more helpful for your to get all you needed out of me. The Speaker will be calling soon; I hope you have something to tell him."

"Warlock Biggs," one of the men behind the counter began. "It is in the interest of Tower Security that you are in this seat, and you shall remain here until granted the proper authority by the Future War Cult -"

"What does FWC have to do with my being here."

The two men behind the heat lamp looked at each other, their silhouettes showing more confusion than their faces. "We're not at liberty to -"

"Ah, okay. FTC has Tower Duty for the month, right? So all gate security goes through you guys first, right? Well, if you'd like, I can send the white flag over to Saturn, tell the Army of Darkness that it's now or never. Might as well walk right in to our dining rooms, sit comfortable on our aircraft and watch our people bubble and pop."

The ring of an incoming call lit the table of the room, pulsing it blue and white. The other man touched the table lightly and spoke into the air. "Daws here."

"Daws, Cayde. Listen, you still got Biggs down there?"

"Cayde, you know we can disclose any info on our investigation with the prisoner."

"It's ex-prisoner now. Message just came in from the Speaker with a list of high-priority warlocks to make a rogue run into Saturn. Biggs's name was at the top. I'm sending it to you now. Make sure he's out in ten." The table lights fluttered away as the call dropped out.

Biggs eyebrows raised with a sarcastic overly-emphatic arch. "Wow, did _not_ see that one comin'. Don't worry, guys, I'll do my best not to let the Tower know exactly how botched this investigation was. I don't want to take away from your time protecting the Tower. Gotta clock some good protection hours on those rosters. You're doin' great." He stood and stretched. "Oh man, I could use a Hot Pocket. I'm assuming my gear is this way?" He pointed toward the only door in the room before walking past FWC and mking his way out."

The rogue mission on Saturn was a success and on their way home, the pilots were crying with laughter as they spoke of all the pranks FWC would deal with back home.


End file.
